Investigation Proves Fruitful

Investigations almost always follow this path. Let's say you need to determine the facts surrounding an incident. You do some initial sleuthing. Based on what you learn, you formulate a working premise about what happened. Then, over time, more information is revealed, and you revise your original theory accordingly.

That is exactly what happened during my investigation of the tangerine caper (reported in the preceding blog post). When Dennis reported the crime to me, it was already dark outside. I conducted my first examination of the scene with only the benefit of a flashlight. Seeing no tangerine detritus and clean cuts on the tree limbs, I reasoned that the heinous acts under investigation were the work of human hands.

Then, the next morning, in the light of day, I sought out my neighbor, Evan. We share a property line with Evan and his wife, Heather. Their bathroom window sits just on the other side of our common fence, within viewing distance of the top of the satsuma tree. Perhaps they saw or heard something that could help us identify the thief. I was now entering the witness phase of the investigation.

Evan was appropriately outraged when I told him that our satsuma tree, previously laden with orange fruit, was now stripped nearly clean. (We have a reciprocal produce-sharing arrangement with Evan and Heather. They give us oranges from their bountiful tree; in exchange, we share whatever's ripe and abundant.) Evan had undoubtedly been expecting a bag of tangerines to appear on his front porch any day now, so he quickly joined me in my victimhood.

After discussing the details of the theft and ruling out of possible suspects, Evan suggested that we examine the crime scene from his side of the fence. And that was when I had to rethink my original theory. Borrowing a phrase from The Big Lebowski, new information had come to light. On Evan's side of the fence, within a few feet of our satsuma tree, lay a wide pile of tangerine peels. It was now evident that the purloined tangerines had been largely eaten at the time they were picked. I was wrong to assume this was the work of a human perpetrator. No one would take the trouble to steal dozens of tangerines and then hunker down in the next yard to consume the fruit in one sitting. Our thief was a member of the animal kingdom. And guessing from the sheer volume of tangerine consumption, it was mostly likely the work of several animals -- a family of raccoons, most probably.

The raccoon theory also explained the secateur-like cuts on the branches, considering their notoriously sharp claws and teeth. It also fit with the fact that our other citrus fruits -- the Mexican lime and the Meyer lemon -- were untouched. These raccoons wisely selected the citrus with the easily removable peel and the most complex flavor. As I left Evan's yard, I remarked bitterly that our resident raccoons certainly had a taste for satsuma. "Who doesn't?" Evan replied.

True, who doesn't appreciate a good satsuma? I'm heading to the farmer's market now to pick up a few pounds before the season ends. Next year, we'll have to remember to harvest the tree earlier, before our raccoon bandits orchestrate another midnight raid on our fruitful satsuma.

STOP! THIEF!

It's so hard for me to wrap my head around this, but we were most definitely burglarized today. A person (or persons) unknown entered our yard, unauthorized, and stripped one of our tangerine trees -- the satsuma -- of 95 percent of its crop. Sadly, we are the victims of Grand Theft, Tangerine.

Here are the few facts we have. Sometime this afternoon, my husband, whose office is close enough to our house to allow him to pop in now and then for a mid-day meal, returned home for lunch. He went to the yard to pick a few tangerines to eat, and was surprised to find the tree was almost without fruit. When we last took notice, probably sometime yesterday, this tree was laden with delightful satsumas. By my estimate, 60 to 75 tangerines have been pilfered. It was a tidy job, too. No dropped fruit. No torn branches. This crime was planned by someone who brought in a carry-bag and a clippers. Notably, the Meyer lemons and Mexican limes were untouched and still hang from their branches. Likewise, the lettuces, kale and other greens also appear to be fine.

So who took the satsumas? And for what purpose? Was it tangerine lust? Greed? Resale value? A desperate need for Vitamin C? None of this makes any sense.

The dog -- our ever vigilant corgi -- was in the house today, probably napping during the crime. She refuses to provide any useful information, claiming that she heard nothing, smelled nothing, saw nothing. I keep quizzing her, but she answers with the same "I don't know what you're talking about" stare. Tomorrow I'll talk to the neighbors to see if they noticed anyone in our yard.

Our kids both have solid alibis; both boys are away at college at the moment. Being late January, their friends are also mostly away at school. Honestly, I can't picture any of their crowd taking the trouble to steal tangerines, even as a practical joke. It's just not funny.

Do we have any enemies, you ask? No, no one we can finger. In fact, we go out of our way to build good neighbor relations by giving our oversupply of fruits and vegetables away. Our neighbors know that if they want some fruit, just ask for it.

This tangerine loss comes on the heals of our grape debacle this past September, when the local Station Fire created so much ash, our concord crop was dusted with it and made inedible. Now, it's a tangerine thief. We feel so violated.

So no leads -- only trepidation. Will the thief (or thieves) return for the rest of citrus? Will the salad greens go next? Should I make a police report? Who suggested that this gardening thing was a peaceful and relaxing hobby? It's full of heartache and disappointment -- and sometimes, a really good piece of fruit.

Seeds of Winter

This winter, I set about staging a small experiment. I planted seeds from the same packet in two different locations in the yard to see which group would thrive better. Watering levels would be the same, but one spot would receive full sun, while the other would get filtered light.

You're smirking. You know that I'm not the science experiment type and you're finding the idea that I voluntarily conducted an experiment hard to believe. You're right. This was not a botany experiment, but rather a greed-driven back-up plan. I was simply hedging my gardening bets. Given my spotty track record at growing things, I reasoned that if one patch of seedlings failed, I still had a second group in the dirt -- just in case.

Results of this trial: I proved to myself that in the gardening realm, a distance of 15 feet might as well be two different galaxies. The lettuce seeds that I planted in the raised bed under full sun are thriving. (See photo.) The seeds from the same packet planted in dappled sunlight in a ground-level patch of dirt have produced only a few anemic little lettuce leaves. Last night, New Year's Eve, I harvested some of the young, tender leaves grown in the raised bed for our first home-grown salad of the winter season. Sprinkled with good quality olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a few twists of salt, what could be simpler or fresher or tastier. A great way to end the year and welcome the new one.

Happy New Year!